


Kiss Me

by alullabytoleaveby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Schmoop, blatant disregard for canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alullabytoleaveby/pseuds/alullabytoleaveby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is one of those characters that should be kissed early, often, and thoroughly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destielpasta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/gifts).



> This is a completely unedited, indulgent, silly ficlet that started from a text post by destielpasta on tumblr. But you know what? I still like it. So posting it here.

Dean’s first kiss is when he’s thirteen and at Missy Cartwright’s birthday party. They’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven and so Dean’s in the coat closet with Jenny Foster and eight other preteens pressed up against the door, trying to hear  _anything_  that’s happening between them. Dean’s nervous and unsure of what to do, so Jenny, exasperated, takes hold of his t-shirt and pulls his lips to hers. _  
_

It’s wet and sloppy and there’s very little finesse, but Jenny knows what she wants and what she wants is to mack on Dean for their allotted seven minutes. Eventually, the two of them find some sort of rhythm, their lips sliding together noisily, as Jenny presses Dean back against the coats, into the wall, and pushes her tongue into his mouth.

Dean likes it.

After seven minutes, their friends rip open the door and there’s a chorus of “ooooohhhh”s as they’re caught still sucking face. Dean has the decency to blush as they climb out of the closet, but Jenny just smirks, pleased with herself as she rises to her feet and it’s time for the next two teenagers to get their chance at ‘heaven’.

When Dean goes home later that night, Jenny kisses him once more, writes her number on his palm and tells him to “call if you want some more practice.”

Dean wastes no time, calls her the next day to take her up on her offer.

—-

Dean begins to get a reputation as they blow in and out of towns. It’s not hard to see why. He’s good looking, has this bad boy attitude, complete with a leather jacket, and he’s charming to boot.

There are cheerleaders and nerdy girls with glasses, brunettes and blondes and redheads, and this one rough and tumble chick decked out in leather with an attitude to match Dean’s named Maura. Each and every one of them finds themselves in a supply closet at school or an empty bedroom or a back seat of a car with Dean, their lips and bodies pressed together, slowly making out.

Dean likes kissing, likes the easy intimacy and connection it builds, even if it’s temporary. Most boys his age, he knows, treat kissing as just another step along the path to get to sex. Dean’s not like that, though. It’s not an obstacle he needs to get through to get to the ‘good stuff’. In fact, many times, the kissing is the best part. He really enjoys having another body, soft and warm, clinging to him and the slick, easy action of lips and tongues moving against each other. He likes to press his hands on their hips, move sensually up their shirts, caressing their backs, just underneath where their bra strap lies, before leading soft touches down their sides and up underneath their breasts. 

Eventually, Dean even learns just how good it is for kissing to move from lips to throat and shoulder bone, to the swell of breasts and the peak of a nipple, down the soft flesh of bellies and thighs, sucking and biting and leaving marks all the way before settling between their legs and kissing the most intimate part of them. He craves to soft gasps, quiet moans, and barely restrained whimpers that fall forth from their mouths, their hands tangling in his hair and pulling—always pulling—as he brings them to completion and they slump, blissed out as Dean wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. 

Maura, he remembered, had hauled him back up once he was done and kissed him ferociously before reaching one hand into his pants and returning the favor. 

Everything about kissing and sex felt  _good_  and damn, did Dean crave it, bask in it, and let it, just for a moment, wipe away the constant weight of taking care of Sam, taking care of Dad, and worrying that this next hunt would be their last.

—-

The first time Dean kisses a boy, he’s twenty two, alone, and feeling brave with two beers and three whiskeys running through him. The boy, no, the man, is good looking, dark haired and tall, deep brown skin, all hard planes, long lines, and strong muscle and Dean feels like he gets even drunker with the scratch of stubble against his chin and the feel of another dick pressed against his own.

He lets the man take him home and spends the whole weekend with him. Dean finds out his name is David after Dean’s done crying out, completely spent. As he’s settling into that pleasant post-orgasm haze, he finally realizes that he never asked. He whispers it into Dean’s ear, kisses right below it and down his neck, sucking a dark mark onto his clavicle.

They spend most of their time wrapped up in each other, kissing lazily and basking in the feel of another warm body nearby. Dean makes him pancakes on Saturday, which quickly turns into a messy, but pleasant make out session against the kitchen table, before they both slid to the floor.

Dean almost feels guilty leaving the next day, not even writing a note, but he’s spent longer than he was planning to in this town and there’s a hunt three states over—suspected witches—that Dean needs to get to.

—-

When Dean finally kisses Cas it’s not out of desperation or anger or lust or need. It’s not a special day of any kind, there’s no apocalypse to stop, heaven and hell are both doing just fine and leaving them both alone for once, and there’s no monster of the week to take down. Dean’s just washing dishes in the kitchen of the bunker when Cas stumbles in, looking for a drink of water after his run.

It hits Dean like a semi as he watches Cas down a bottle of water, his adam’s apple bobbing and Dean is powerless to resist. He reaches out, presses one palm against Cas’ cheek. Cas moves the bottle away from his mouth, his eyes inquisitive and the question “Dean?” already forming on his lips. But Dean doesn’t give him the chance to voice it, silences the sound with his own lips, presses the answer back into Cas’ mouth. When he pulls back a moment later, Cas leans forward to follow and Dean huffs out a laugh before he indulges him again, resuming the kiss.

Dean doesn’t know how long they stand there kissing, Cas sweaty and Dean’s t-shirt wet with dishwater; it doesn’t matter. Because there, with Cas wrapped around him, Dean learns that kissing is even better when it’s with someone you love.


End file.
